Eternal Rot

Healing

More time passed, and wounds healed, and love flourished. Alastor began to be able to leave his home, and he took that in stride. His radio broadcasts increased, a mixture of news and his own deeds being reported to the sinners of Hell, increasing his power as demon’s became devoted to his cause. He was nowhere as popular as Vincent’s religious ramblings, but he certainly was still making numbers. His influence grew, and so did his strength. 

He had even found great pleasure in returning back to his previous hobby, writing fingers getting broken back in as the typewriter he had let him express everything he had bundled up inside, and more. A new story, a eulogy to his old life, plus a dramatic recreation of his own experiences within the underworld, but with enough fiction included to separate himself from the tale. He felt engrossed in his new writings during the night when things had settled, and Niffty had gone to bed in the closet he had converted into a bedroom for her. Lucifer had begged to read his work, but he made him wait, only letting Sir Pentious and Husk read the story, as he had found out that both had become quick fans. Where Sir was not as enthusiastic about the smut written in the story, he was a sucker for romance of any gender, so he read feverishly. He even would return the manuscript with notes jotted on them, spelling mistakes fixed, and words changed for the better with red ink. A proof reader in Hell. Something Alastor hardly had when he was alive, so he was glad he had happened to befriend such an intelligent idiot. 

Husk, on the other hand; had seemed to dismiss his works entirely, acting as though they weren’t very interesting to the sinner. He would still take them to read, but never give feedback other than a thumbs up and perhaps some top shelf alcohol. Though, Alastor was sure he was just getting him drunk to get away with more. Al tended to be more permissible while intoxicated, something it seemed that everyone but the overlord knew. 

Alastor rolled his eyes as he finished the last line of the night, sitting back in his chair as he let the tension in the back of his neck fade. He stood after a while, readjusting the long cotton nightshirt the king had tailored for him so that it would frame him more properly. When he felt more mobile, he walked over to the kitchen to fetch some wine, pouring it into one of the fancy glasses that Lucifer had brought from his mansion; then he went over to his bed, sitting down on the new sheets the king had also brought. He couldn’t help but spoil the deer, and man did Alastor love it. His interference had felt like the beginnings of Alastor becoming like a prince, or maybe even a king. 

Giggling to himself over the idea, he drank heavily, filling his cup again and again. Once the edge of any lingering and overall unwanted feelings had numbed, he put the glass to the side, leaving them on the nightstand as he curled up and began to get comfortable. He heard his shadow beginning to clear away his mess. It still acted standoffish, but it had gotten better as Alastor had. Like a bruised ego, their kinship had healed with time. Lucifer had told the sinner that shadows tended to be like parasites. They clung to power, and when Alastor had been injured, it left little for the creature to cling to. It was actually strange that it kept coming around at all until he had started being able to use his abilities again, as the creature had no obligation to him without the fear to feed on. Lucifer had even suggested that the patron who had gifted the being to him may have been sending it back to look after him, so it was too scared to return to it’s original host. The idea fascinated the deer.

After blinking a few times, Alastor found wouldn’t sleep, as he couldn’t. He waited for the time to hit midnight, then the feeling of a tear in the air had disturbed reality, as Lucifer stepped right through, teleporting himself the moment the grandfather clock in the corner had begun to chime. Always on time these days, always with a gift, another apology. Alastor had forgiven him weeks ago, but Lucifer still persisted. Hopeless romantic, that’s what Al thought whenever he was greeted with a new trinket or gesture.